lunch; Grimm had seen the same effect when Granfer Loras had been sampling the first cider of summer.
'Funval, allow me to introduce our newest Student, Grimm Afelnor. Grimm, this is Funval, an Adept of Herbalism. He is so dedicated to his craft that he often neglects his nutrition in the pursuit of his staff and ring. He's expected to be Acclaimed very soon, after years of diligent study and service, aren't you, Adept Funval?'
Without waiting for a reply, Doorkeeper continued. 'The pale-skinned gentleman to his left is Numal, who is getting very good at Necromancy, I hear.'
Grimm remembered from his earlier reading in the library that Necromancy had something to do with dead bodies, and a fugitive shiver passed through him.
'I'm sure he washed his hands before coming here, didn't you, Numal? Our spare-framed friend here is Malwarth. He is becoming a promising Adept Alchemist, yes, very good, which explains his strange complexion; the noxious substances that he plays with all day have left their indelible marks, eh, Malwarth? Each stain a badge to be worn with pride, I'll be bound.'
The strange-looking Adept nodded, absently, presumably still lost in the mysteries of his craft. He sat hunched in an uncomfortable-looking cross-legged pose, his gaze distant, as if seeing beyond the walls of the Refectory to some far-off place.
Doorkeeper took a wolfing bite of his meal, and Grimm remembered that he, too, had food in front of him. The dish looked delicious, and he took a hearty portion from his own plate, aware of the envious looks that some of the younger Students cast his way.
'Eat up, Grimm' carolled the old mage, 'you won't be getting meals like this every day, I'm afraid.
'Ah, gentlemen, here comes the waiter to take your order.'
Doorkeeper bent back to his meal, as did Grimm. Although Grimm found Doorkeeper a likeable old man, he found it was nice to have a momentary respite from the mage's ebullient banter, even more so than when he was trying to play the stern, erudite mage.
It appeared that the waiter, Dortel, had heeded Doorkeeper's advice. He brought the Adepts' meals with a cheery smile, and he served the yammering Students their more basic sustenance without insult, to be rewarded with polite thanks from a few of the boys before they launched into their meals with ferocious gusto. It seemed that food, at least, could still the Students' voices, even if only for a short while.
The rest of the meal passed in relative peace, apart from slight snuffling noises as Doorkeeper wolfed down his fare; the three Adepts picked at theirs like birds. The mage released a mighty eructation, scratched his armpits and leant back for a moment in his chair.
'Ah well, brothers, I regret that I have a lot to do for this evening. I must be word-perfect with my speech for the gala tonight, and I haven't finished it yet. So much to do for a busy mage, so much work…'
Doorkeeper carried on for a while about his vital and onerous duties, but, eventually, even he wound down. 'I'm sure that you'll look after Grimm, eh, gentlemen?' The prune and the skeleton gave swift, nervous nods, further enhancing the impression Grimm had of them as exotic birds.
Doorkeeper levered himself to his feet with his old staff and walked away. Grimm liked Doorkeeper a lot, but he felt a general release of tension as the old man left the Refectory, flinging his arms wide in a theatrical gesture to open the doors and letting them slam with a boom behind him.
Chapter 9: Strange Characters
After a long pause, the pale Necromancer, Numal, winked at Grimm, causing the boy to give an involuntary start.
'Suddenly quiet, isn't it, Grimm?' he said in a pleasant voice at odds with his fearsome appearance. 'We all love Doorkeeper, but he can be a bit too much sometimes.'
The Necromancer might have an austere aspect, but Grimm sensed the genuine warmth and humour in his words. Smiling, he replied, 'Well, maybe sometimes Doorkeeper does talk rather a lot.'
Numal moved close to the boy. 'You're scared of me because of my calling, eh, boy?' Grimm, stammering, tried to deny this, but he dissembled poorly. 'Well, don't worry, Grimm; I am still a human being, for all that. I do spend my days in the dark, reading signs from rabbits' entrails and bleached bones, but only because I have to. Necromancy may be my vocation, but it is not one that I ever sought.'
Numal's voice became wistful and dreamy as he continued. 'Once, I had dreams of being a bold Questor, making my own way in the world, or a mighty Weatherworker, who could make the sky tremble my passing, but it was never to be so. Such, I suppose, is life. I did not ask to become a Necromancer; the calling was decreed for me by the Magemasters. Nonetheless, their wisdom is evident. 'The road was not chosen for me; it has chosen me'; that, by the way, is just one of the many sayings that the Magemasters will throw at you over the years.
'Some of the mysteries of the craft are now becoming clear to me and, although the subject is distasteful to many, I now see that, if I am to be a Mage at all, it is to be as a Necromancer. The Magemasters are quick to assay a Student's worth and capabilities, and they are fine judges indeed. For too long, I thought myself worthless and without vocation, but now I may find my true potential in the calling chosen for me.'
The mottled, multicoloured Malwarth leaned close, wafting strange, yet not unpleasant chemical odours in Grimm's direction. 'For me, the years in the Scholasticate have flown past like dreams.
'It has been hard work, but when I strike my Staff, crafted by my own hands, on the Breaking Stone and it rebounds, I will know that it was all worthwhile. Every day I spend with my books, my potions and my carving brings that day closer.'
The brown-skinned Herbalist, Funval, grimaced, looking at the other Adepts with an expression of doubt at their fine words. 'As far as my parents were concerned, it was either to be magic or the navy for me. They tossed a coin, one of the few they had, and decided on this place. An uncle of mine used to be a Second Rank Reader here, and so I was in.
'I would far rather have spent my days in the sun and the wind as a sailor, seeing the world and its wonders, but I ended up as a Student for seven years and a Neophyte Herbalist for seventeen more. I've been slogging away as an Adept for five years now, and all I can say is that at least the food and the beds are better. What do you think of the Scholasticate, then, youngster?'
Grimm thought for a while; the Adepts' flowery speech had rather taken him aback. 'It's bigger than I thought, sir,' he hazarded. 'I just thought there would be more people here.'
Enthused by Funval's openness, Malwarth, the Alchemist nodded. 'Neophytes and Adepts, unlike Students, do not always have to eat at fixed times, to avoid distraction,' he said, 'and the average Adept spends every waking moment polishing up his spells or working on his Staff. I only came here because I'm getting sick of having my best conversations with a lump of wood. I live with it, I sleep with it, and I dream of the bloody thing.'
This meant nothing to the boy, but he remained silent.
'I meant what I said about how it will all be worth it on the day of my Acclamation, but dedicated as I am, even I need a break now and again,' the Alchemist declared.
Numal sighed. 'Well, now that you come to mention it, Malwarth, it does get tedious at times. I always wanted to be a singer, a dancer or some other kind of entertainer. In my youth, I was told that my imitation of Daffo the Clown was highly amusing.'
Grimm's mind performed acrobatics, much in the manner of the famous Daffo, as he was assailed by the ludicrous image of the stern, pale Necromancer as a clown with brightly-coloured motley, a green wig and a painted smile. He struggled to resist a strong urge to burst into a fit of hysterical giggling. Just as he feared he might be about to explode with the effort, he was saved by the inaudible, yet persistent Refectory bell.
Funval, Numal and Malwarth made their excuses; each had much work to complete before the start of the Scholasticate year. The members of what Grimm thought of as the Student Shouting Team rose as one and trooped out of the doors; the Refectory was again quiet, and the boy was alone.
In the sudden, stark silence, Grimm felt quite lost, and he trudged back to his cell with a sullen gait. With nothing else to do, he picked up his solitary book and began to read again. Doorkeeper had told him that the Rules were important, and he was determined not to fall foul of some stern-faced Magemaster.
By the time he had reached Rule 4.23.6, 'On the third day of every second month, each Student shall wear on his left breast a red ribbon in honour of Tharmal the Wise, Third Prelate of the House', his eyes had begun to
